


A Familiar Taste

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: -Ish, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, F/F, Fem!Cas, Genderbending, Genderswap, Teenagers, fem!dean, sad towards the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:36:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which their positions are switched, and Deanna has to take care of a drunken Castielle and pretend everything will be all right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Familiar Taste

The shrill sound of a whistle filled the air, and her mind cleared.

Deanna sprang up, watching the ball soar into the air and lunging for it. Cradle, catch, and cradle – she had done it a million times before, more often than she breathed. She captured the ball in one smooth motion, carrying it high above the air and dashing across the field.

She was barely conscious of the crowd cheering her on, trying to shake off the anxiety that she had felt crushing her ribcage when she had seen exactly how many of her classmates had decided to watch her lacrosse game. Their cheers, their slanders, their words, all meant nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing as Deanna dashed down the field, her eyes darting around for an open pass.

She had a girl on her tail, another cutting in from the side; she faked left, dashing right and tossing the ball to Charlie.

Deanna was a terrible team player, and everyone knew it; there were only a few people she felt comfortable relying upon, and thankfully, a few of them were on her team.

She sprinted a few yards, cutting in front of the goal and opening for a pass, taking advantage of a very small window of opportunity. The ball was in her stick, and she was staring into the demonic eyes of the Notre Dame goalie when she finally heard it. 

“My anal sphincter is doing the Harlem shake.” 

Her eyes clenched shut as a girl the size of a tree, slamming painfully into the ground, decked her. But receiving a possible concussion was the least of her problems.

Aw, hell, Cass. 

Because Deanna recognized the voice, the way it was husky and deep and sounded like it was eternally affected by a slight cold. It sounded the way whiskey tasted; warm and gold and rough. 

She felt her rush of adrenaline beginning to drain, running dry as she lined up to take the foul shot. She was given fifteen yards, enough for two defenders to dash in front of her and a single pass to be made. The whistle blew, and she was off, pulling a bull dodge and rounding out the corner. The world slowed as she looked for her second shot, aiming for the far right hand corner and – 

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘scrotum’.”

The shot bounced off the corner post, and Deanna cursed. She took a deep breath, running her fingers under her eye gear to wipe a hot bead of sweat off her cheek. 

He dropped her gaze, only for it to shoot back up when she heard a loud, metallic thump.

Fuck, I told that motherfucker not to drink from the milk jug, that it was ambrosia in disguise, and she just had to go and do it. 

He sprinted off the field, slapping the hand of one of her teammates as she crossed the boundary line. She knew she could get kicked off the team for pulling something like that, she was already on the coach’s bad side for mooning her during practice, but she could not give less of a shit. Her stick and helmet landed on the ground as she dashed up the metal bleachers, because of course that asshole in the long coat had to sit in the very top row, reaching down to pull on the rolled-up sleeve of Castielle Novak. Her stomach was doing very odd things at the sight of her inebriated girlfriend, twisting in worry and flopping at the sight of her adorably tousled hair. 

“Come on, Cass, rise and shine,” she said, tugging her up and wrapping an arm around her waist. 

Cass seemed to be in la-la land as Deanna dragged her down the bleachers, her feet hitting the cold metal with a loud pinging noise. 

The made it to the bushes before Cass pushed her away, vomiting a stream of whitish liquid into the shrubbery and stumbling back to Deanna.

“Cass,” Deanna said, using the girl’s shirt to wipe a pale dribble of vomit crawling down her chin. “Why did you come to my game if you were hammered?”

“Dee-Dee needs a cheerleader,” Cass said, throwing an arm around the girl with a smile sweet enough to give Deanna a toothache. 

“Right, right.” She strolled towards the lot, struggling under the added weight of her nearly-passed out friend and blindly prayed to whoever was listening that her baby made it home with its vomit-virginity still intact as she lowered Cass into the Impala, dragging a seatbelt over her limp figure and placing a peck on her forehead before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You are in so much trouble when you sober up, darlin’.”  
\---  
She smacked Castiel hard on the back, trying to block out the sounds of retching. She held her close, running a cold cloth over her face and combing her fingers through dark curls.

“Ugh,” Cass sputtered, “feels like my bowels are being incarcerated.” 

“Tell me how you really feel, Cass. Why’d you get so fucked up in the first place?”

“I may have had several reasons to drown out my sorrow.” She hiccupped. “I think I’m starting to feel something.”

“Right. We are going to have a nice, long talk over the sound of Star Wars and buttery popcorn as soon as you can recite the alphabet backwards, capisce?”

Cass made more retching noises, and Deanna wasn’t quite sure if it was due to alcohol poisoning or the premise of a chick flick moment later on. 

Deanna laid a hand on her back, smacking her just a little too hard. She rose to leave, turning towards the door. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go grab you a new shirt and some Tylenol.”

The hand snaking around her wrist was certainly a surprise. 

“I would prefer for you to stay, Dee.” Castielle's voice was gravel, glazed with ache and bile and pure agony. For a moment, Deanna could see the girl’s heart beating on her sleeve, blood dribbling down her wrist and staining her shirt crimson red. 

“Always, Cass.”

She sat back down.  
\---

Half an hour later, and Cass was tucked into Deanna’s own bed, looking very much like a drunken taco wrapped in her bright yellow sheets.

Deanna just stood there in the middle of the room, halfway between the door and nowhere in particular, watching over her. If Deanna were to count the amount of times her and Castielle’s positions were switched, with Cass looking after her passed-out body and her stomach full of worry, Deanna would need both hands and some toes. 

She was playing a dangerous game. She knew that eventually she’d fuck up, as she always did, and the most fantastic relationship she’d ever had would be smashed to pieces the size in a fashion that would make the Hulk jealous, leaving only unpleasant taste in her mouth. 

She knew Cass was already broken in a thousand different places, with an addict for a birth mother and indifferent parents. She knew that she would only create more cracks and fractures, eventually shattering her altogether, because Deanna was a stupid asshole who couldn’t get three words out about how Cass makes her heart hammer like a construction worker without sounding constipated. 

She wanted to shake Castielle awake and say, “This is a dangerous game. It may look as though I’m offering you ambrosia, but it’s laced with enough poison to bring down a grizzly bear. And I can’t let you go dipping your fingers in, honey-pie. So please, run far away from me, as fast as your lovely legs can carry you, and leave me in the dust. It’s the only way to make sure you’ll be all right.”

But Deanna was a selfish bastard. Instead, she leaned in, running a hand through curls damp from perspiration and pressed a kiss to Castielle’s forehead. 

She sometimes had to remind herself that Cass was a big girl who was perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and that she was not a china doll who would crack at the slightest gust of wind. 

“Sleep, Cass,” she breathed, her voice soft as velvet, falling on deaf ears. “It’ll be all right. Just you wait and see.”

Cass turned on her side, letting out a sigh that Deanna refused to hear as a breathy moan of her own name.

Castielle slept.


End file.
